In Their Care
by a-mild-looking-sky
Summary: After years of strife, Thranduil is determined to give Legolas a celebration that he won't forget for the 1000th anniversary of his begetting day. Elrond takes an interest in the beautiful prince, unknowing of the conflicting feelings Thranduil is facing. Elrond/Legolas, Elrond/Thranduil, Legolas/Thranduil, eventual Elrond/Legolas/Thranduil.
1. Chapter 1

**In Their Care**

**So this was a request from a lovely friend on Tumblr, who asked for some Thranduil/Legolas/Elrond. Will include explicit m/m slash and threesome slash, some involving Thranduil/Legolas incest. You've been warned. If you don't like the sound of that, don't read on. This first part is pretty tame but the next two parts will be a little more smutty xD Feedback always appreciated :) **

T.A. 2700

The journey to Mirkwood was long and uneventful for the elves of Imladris. Though there had been concern about orc packs on the road and the unpredictable weather and landscape of the Wilderness, all were pleased when the venture failed to make true these worries. They passed unhindered and unburdened through the Misty Mountains, forded the Anduin in bright daylight and crossed the pleasant rolling hills beneath the Carrock without a glimmer of trouble. Nobody dared breathe a word of complaint.

Even when they reached the borders of the great woods itself, its branches twisted and ancient above them, the breeze still blew tranquilly, the sound of distant birdsong in the air. It was only when they entered onto the Old Forest Road did the first rumbles of discomfort shiver through the travelling group.

Many had heard whisper and rumour of their strange kin in this part of the world. Far back in their own land, the Hidden Valley was a place of order and serenity, untouched by the turnings of Arda and for the most part, cleansed of its pain and suffering. In the peaceful, lovely times they had spent on their journey, the views had not been so different. But, as soon as they laid foot in the gnarled embrace of Mirkwood, the imprint and eternal capture of times long past was as clear, and as inherent, as the safety of Imladris. Every tree and every leaf seemed to breathe memory itself, like the very forest thrived on it. Only one look was needed to know of the depth and age in the land around them. It felt almost as though the whole area was throbbing with life, watching them, observing their every movement and retaining it in its living soul.

For those who had not seen much of life beyond the fine and fair, the impression struck a hesitant awe into their hearts. At the front of the delegation, Lord Elrond listened, with some amusement, to their hushed whispers, low and wary as if the trees were prying on them. Some were younger and more innocent of the world, but many were simply unused to such an ominous power surrounding them; not soothing and blissful like the hand of Imladris, but darker and filled with a dangerous resonance. He recalled the first time he had stepped into Mirkwood, felt the heaviness of its years pressing down upon him and the profound presence it had exuded. He would never forget it. So it was with some deal of entertainment that he overheard the murmured praises and doubts about the woodland around them.

However, Elrond had other things to consider other than the domain they now rode through. His mind lay far beyond them, down in the palace of the wood elves' monarch. Many months ago, he had received an invitation to a most important of events, hosted by none other than King Thranduil himself. Thranduil's son, Prince Legolas, would be celebrating his one thousandth begetting day very soon and a party was being held in his honour, surely a most lavish and exceptional affair. Elrond, a close friend of Thranduil's for many ages, could not refuse. Long had it been since the two elves had seen one another and the last time the Lord of Imladris had laid eyes on the Prince of Mirkwood, he had been a reclusive, withdrawn young ellon, still suffering greatly with the death of his dear mother. Now it was centuries on and Elrond was curious and eager to find out how his kin was faring beyond the mountains.

Despite the rather oppressive aura, they passed mostly unharmed through the woods. Every now and then, a stray vine or branch would catch on one of the troupe's arm and cause a fluster of unnerved frustration but there was no sign of any of the foul creatures Elrond had heard talk of. The forest seemed relatively still, even if it was a more unfamiliar kind of still. No doubt they were being observed and protected by elven eyes high in the trees.

For much of the journey, Lindir had been riding alongside him. He had surprised Elrond in being quite eager to accompany him for the trip. There was no love lost between the Noldor and the Sindar but the most prominent reason for Elrond's astonishment was Lindir's previous hesitation about the woodland king. He remembered the days of the Last Alliance when the minstrel had had few complimentary words about the late Oropher and his serious son. Upon Thranduil's former visits to Imladris, Lindir had seemed to stay out of his way, other than with official business. For him to appear even as if he was enjoying himself now while travelling to that same king's realm was bemusing to see.

"Lindir, you amaze me," Elrond commented to his friend as they edged closer to the woodland realm. "I never thought that you would voluntarily set foot in Thranduil's own territory."

Lindir merely smiled and shook his head. "I am not one to hold grudges, my lord. It has been many years since I saw King Thranduil. Maybe he is not as my imagination conjures him up to be."

Elrond laughed. His friend certainly did have a rather overwhelming character. He had always been quite serious and dominating, even in his youthful days in Lindon, and for a long while, Elrond had steered clear of him. He was known to be quite arrogant and cold, an enigma not many could solve, just like his wise father. However, once the two had spent more time in each other's company, Elrond found that he was not as intimidating or unfriendly as others may talk about. For many centuries now, they had remained close.

After the death of Oropher and then Thranduil's loving wife, however, the woodland king had sunk further and further back into his defences. He had few close companions now, the main one being his sole son who he treasured more than anything in the world. It had been too long since Elrond had met with him, and he wished to change the image of the almost awkward, grieving youth in his mind.

"He is certainly one you have to be patient with," Elrond finally replied to Lindir, who was glancing around at the odd landscape around them. "If there is any who embodies his kingdom most, it is Thranduil."

"That is what I fear." Lindir's voice sounded speculative for a moment but then he smiled again and returned his gaze to the path before them. "I have heard much whisper about his son, however. I greatly desire to see him. He was but an elfling the last time I met him in Imladris."

"Yes. Apparently he is an elfling no more and has grown into a strong young warrior. It would not surprise me - his father was always known as one of the most skilled youths in Lindon."

"I recall it well." Lindir had only been young then but already granted with a wise and almost suspicious nature. It was a trait that had never left him. "He used to make me feel about five inches tall."

Elrond smiled. "I believe that all who met him felt that way. I did too when we first talked. But you become accustomed to him after some time, trust me. You will find his heart is not cold all of the time. After all, I doubt this event for Legolas will be a small and haphazard affair."

"I suppose not." Lindir paused for a while. When he next spoke, Elrond could not help but notice the amusement in his voice and the slight redness upon his cheeks. "And I have heard word that the prince has become quite the beauty now he has grown older. It is rather legendary, judging by what has been spoken."

The lord of Imladris chuckled, even more so at Lindir's endearing shyness at the statement. "Who exactly have you been talking to to hear such things, Lindir? Is this the reason for your travel with me?" he asked. Lindir floundered and uttered a quiet "well-" but Elrond merely smiled. "No, it is something that I have heard of too. Again, though, it would not surprise me - both of his parents are of a very fair nature, if not one so much in personality."

"I thought you said that he was not so terrible."

Elrond grinned. "I am only playing with you, dear Lindir. It is something you will have to get used to in this realm. Nothing is ever quite what it seems."

Lindir's face betrayed his anticipation hidden inside. He tried to mask it with his next words. "I am accustomed to your sons' tricks and taunts. It is not as though my life in the Hidden Valley has been an entirely peaceful one."

Elrond laughed again. He was grateful now that Lindir had decided to come along for the excursion. The minstrel never failed to amuse him, even if he did not intend to. "I think the whims of the woodland realm are slightly more demanding than Elladan and Elrohir's little jokes. Speaking of my sons, where have they got to?"

Lindir turned, looking to the back of the neat row of elves riding closely behind them. He peered, trying to work out the dark heads of Elrond's twin sons amongst the crowd. Many had willingly made the journey to Mirkwood, although it was long and potentially perilous, being allured by the prospect of King Thranduil's infamous parties and the chance to meet the Woodland Prince once again. No doubt Elladan and Elrohir wished to rekindle their former friendship with the young elf. Despite initial trepidation, knowing the mischief the two had tried to instigate when Legolas used to visit the Hidden Valley, Elrond had gradually warmed to the idea. Their minds had been occupied with darker, more troublesome thoughts, of late, pining for retribution in wake of the abuse of their mother at the hands of orcs. Two hundreds years after her passing into Valinor, the grief was still raw and they were dealing with it in vastly different ways to Elrond. After time to think of it, he had considered it wise to allow the twins to accompany them and find some relaxation. If such a thing could be possible at Thranduil's affairs.

Now they rode in the long line of elves entering deeper and deeper into the heart of the woodland realm. It would not be long until they reached the fortified palace gates; Elrond could already hear the distant rushing of the Forest River which ran through Thranduil's halls. Idly, he wondered what awaited them there. Despite the obvious hesitation of some of the group, he knew it would be good for them, for similar reasons that it would be good for his sons. Although Imladris would ever be a place of peace and serenity, the shadow of Celebrían still lingered in all their hearts, none yet fully coming to terms with her departure. Elrond had tried to rest his darkened mind but two centuries on, the anguish still festered somewhere deep inside of him, as he knew it did with many others. When she had left, she had made them promise to be happy, to continue living their lives in joy as she would in the Undying Lands. Elrond pined to fulfil his lovely wife's parting wish.

And, no matter what his companions thought, the two elven settlements were not so different in some respects, both having lost a beautiful part of their lives to other circles of the world. They may all be surprised at what they found in the home of the woodland king. He just hoped it was a more pleasant kind of surprise...

* * *

It had been a very long time since any visitors had arrived in the woodland realm. For centuries, King Thranduil had not looked very positively onto the idea of travelling guests, other than a select number. He had preferred the company of his close kith and kin within the walls of the palace, away from the tumult of the outer world. At first, this policy had only been intended to be a passing thing, one that would be lifted after the kingdom had begun to recover after his wife's disappearance. He had ignored the calls of the folk beyond and allowed his population to grieve on their own terms. But slowly the benefits and relative peace of the temporary isolation had sunk in and Thranduil had resented the thought of allowing such free access to his long-suffering home again. For many years now, the reputation of Mirkwood had been one of a reclusive and suspicious nature.

Yet Thranduil saw no reason why it should not be. The land on which he lived and the people who he shared his life with had seen and experienced enough turmoil in their days. It would be folly to think that it should not come again. But this time, they would be prepared, and not hit so hard when the darkness reappeared in earnest. He could already feel it at times, seeping in from the corners of their world, ready to challenge them in new and bitter ways. When it arrived, they would strike at it in the knowledge that they had done all they could to ready themselves. And this would come by looking at their own resources, surviving alongside one another in the tight community they had formed in the woods, away from the rest of Arda's concerns.

Yet this party coming into his domain that day had a very important reason for visiting. It was the 1000th anniversary of Legolas' begetting day and Thranduil intended to throw a lavish, unforgettable event for his lovely, cherished son. Despite their nature of isolation, the prince's life had at times, still been infected with anguish and trouble. Thranduil had done all that he could to protect him but even inside the fortress, sorrow could creep, deadly and poisonous.

When Legolas had been a mere elfling, his mother had vanished into the labyrinth of the woods, leaving Thranduil to raise the frightened, confused child alone. He had striven at the difficult task as best as he could, relentlessly trying to balance it with the high politics and frustration of kingship. It hadn't been easy and both had suffered but through the bitter, long years, they had formed a strong bond, alone in the corner of the forest, and aided each other's seemingly endless, often arduous recovery.

Now Thranduil wished to reward his beautiful son, to celebrate both the joy he had brought to his life and the continuing journey he would also be taking in the rest of his days. He was determined that it would be perfect. And if that meant relaxing his rigid policy and inherent distrust of many from outside their familiar realm, then he would find a way to compensate that.

However, the group riding through his land that morning were not truly unknown. Most of them the king had been acquaintances, and in some cases, friends with, for long ages, although he had not seen them for many passings of the seasons. Lord Elrond, his children, the wise elves of Imladris... He remembered them all well and sometimes would lament on the infrequency of their meetings. Although their outlooks on the world were very different, his people often seemed to find joy in their presence. Already, he could feel the change; the gladly greeted breath of relief as promised happiness appeared on the horizon. This party that night would be beneficial to all. Long had it been since they had shared their home with any.

The intricate preparations for the festivities had also given Thranduil's swarming mind something else to focus on. For centuries, he had felt something lurking deep inside of himself: remnants from his tempestuous life before, memories of his dear wife, anticipation growing in the heart of the forest... He had tried to atone the wounds of his past yet they seared deep and out of his desperate grasp. But, some days, some nights, he thought there was something else itching within him, something he could not quite understand, something he innately knew that he did not want to understand, though he knew not what it was. It bothered him and at times, drove him from a healing rest yet always, upon awakening, it would dart out of his comprehension. There was nothing he could do though. Forcing himself to imagine what the distant illusions may be only drove it further from his mind. And somehow, he knew he wanted to avoid realising what it truly was...

That day, though, there were other matters, in the real world, to consider.

Late in the morning, Thranduil received word that the group were approaching the citadel. The journey from Imladris could often be perilous, a way of secret passes and fast-flowing rivers, and he was glad to hear of their safety. He recalled the ventures he and Legolas used to take to the Hidden Valley many years ago; only when he had come within sight of the Last Homely House did he feel at ease for travelling without hindrance. And merely two centuries ago, he had heard word of Elrond's own wife being waylaid by orcs in the Redhorn Pass. Times were darkening. Yet this night, they would try not to think of such things; Legolas deserved to have a celebration that he would not forget.

Thranduil smiled as he thought of how much the boy would be spoiled. He knew being the king's son could be a burden at times but he was determined to make it a benefit for him that evening. For days, he had been personally involved in the organisations, from the most menial affairs to the most important. At first, he had wanted to keep it as a surprise for Legolas but it soon became impossible to hide it from him. Yet the prince was ever gracious and turned a blind eye to it, albeit with a sly, knowing smile. Thranduil rejoiced to be able to give him something to feel excited over. Sometimes he feared he was too serious, too sheltered, too like his father.

And Thranduil would do anything to protect him from that fate. For many reasons.

At that moment, Legolas was outside with his friends in the guard. Most had ventured into the woods to protect the arriving elves but a few had stayed behind, at the gates of the fortress, to be with their prince. Even though it was his day of begetting, a time for great celebration, he had still opted to train with his bow and arrow and swords. He was ever dedicated to his own fitness and prowess for future battles. Thranduil was proud of him, his heart never failing to glow when he saw how much of a strong, skilful warrior his son was becoming, though the idea of Legolas having to use these talents worried him endlessly. He dreaded a day when that would have to occur.

Still, he could not tell him to stop, Legolas' determination being too strong. He had been the same when he was younger, always focused on proving himself time and time again. His father had made sure he was prepared for the worst at all times. But when the worst had happened, he could never have been ready for it.

These dark thoughts were never far from Thranduil's mind, lost in the tendrils he always tried to lock away. Again, he thought of how good it would be to banish them, or rather, carve a longer distance between them, for a while. It would be cathartic to host another of his festivities, the type he used to be infamous for, if he recalled correctly. He knew many from the Hidden Valley were coming for that notion, one he hoped to reignite.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, he was informed that the travelling visitors were almost at the gates to the fortress. Without ceremony, they were let in and Thranduil ordered a small few to come before his throne. Judging by the words of the guard, there were many arrivals; something the king had not expected.

He recognised the five elves immediately as they approached the dais. Though long centuries had passed, the influence of immortality had meant that their looks had altered in barely noticeable ways. They were different from the Silvan folk of the woods; taller, stronger built than some of his people, and sharper in facial features. Their names would ever be known to him - at their front, Lord Elrond, for many years a friend, followed by his advisor, Erestor, his twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir (Thranduil immediately feared the mischief they may cause later that day), his lovely daughter, Arwen and the famed Lord Glorfindel, once a great hero of the youthful Thranduil, much to his father's displeasure.

Yet it was Elrond who Thranduil focused on the most that day. Seeing him re-awoke the memories of his younger days in Lindon, far away in the West. There had been bliss there once and he had shared that with the Peredhil, day and night. He felt glad to welcome him and his kin into the secluded realm, an age on. Still, he wondered, though their outward appearances had not changed, if their inner ones had.

As they approached the throne, he greeted them warmly, coming a few steps down to be nearer to their level. The hesitation that had been hidden on some of their faces eased a little. "Welcome to Mirkwood," he said simply. "I have heard that your journey was fair and calm. I hope I have not been informed wrongly."

"You have not, King Thranduil," Elrond replied, the title coming easily from his lips though he could see some uncertainty in his eyes. "We had the sensation of being watched in the foothills of the Misty Mountains but this was all. The land seems peculiarly quiet."

"There is something lurking just out of our grasp, Lord Elrond. Slowly it is revealing itself in other parts of this world and we must be wary." Thranduil noticed the subtle glances Elrond's party gave each other as he spoke, no doubt curious of this talk, or rather, unsure of this king who spoke about it. He continued regardless. "Still, you will be safe in these halls. I wish you a pleasant time. Rooms have already been prepared for you in our guest wing, which has not often been used, as you may realise. But our hospitality will be extended graciously to you."

"We are grateful for that, King Thranduil. Too long has it been since we have met."

"Indeed." Thranduil looked them over once more, staring back at him with a mix of emotions written across their faces, and then turned to Elrond again. "My guards will show you to your rooms. I expect you desire to rest after your long journey. Your night will be long."

Not wanting to keep them unnecessarily, Thranduil nodded to the guards who had led the group to the throne room and they began to escort them out again. The king held up a hand to allow Elrond to stay behind. When they had gone, he finally came the rest of the distance onto the dais, letting his gaze rove slowly over the half-elf. "Your presence has been missed, Lord Elrond," he said. "There is much I desire to talk to you about and hear your wise thoughts on, for I feel sensations in my mind that I cannot quite grasp. But I wish for this party to transpire without fault or distraction. It is of paramount importance to me that Legolas enjoys himself. Make sure he is not harmed or taken advantage of in any manner."

Elrond frowned, confusion crossing his countenance. "What are you saying, Thranduil?" he asked.

"I am asking you to be my eyes and ears where I am not. There will be many who wish his attention for impure reasons - I have seen them throughout the years - and they will use this event as a selfish way to get what they want."

"I do not think that such a thing -"

"Once you have see my son, Lord Elrond, you will understand. Trust me. Keep him in the party and within our care. I will not have him harmed in any way."

Elrond continued to frown, obviously displeased with this order. Yet he could not argue with Thranduil; the elf would always get what he asked. He found he had to agree. At this, a small smile graced Thranduil's lips. "Very well," he said. "It will be a large weight off my shoulders. I thank you for your help. You may leave now. A guard will show you the way."

Elrond nodded and began to depart from the dais. Thranduil knew his mind must be reeling from this strange request but he had felt it necessary to ask it of him. Legolas would not be taken so crudely away from him, especially not this night when so many would be watching his every move. He would guard him, no matter what. And if that meant taking this precautions, then so be it.

(tbc)


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

Early into the evening, Legolas sat before the ornate mirror in his chambers, awaiting the arrival of the assistants his father had sent for him. There was a mere hour before the celebrations in his name began and he was still yet to know what was truly happening. Of course, in such a tightly knit community, it was impossible to keep the affairs secret from him and for weeks, he had been aware that a party would be occurring, yet he understood nothing further than that. He was not sure how he felt about such a thing. On the one hand, the suggestion of a joyful festivity was an exciting and hopeful one. The state of his father's realm had been sombre for as long as he could remember. Although relative peace had been brought to the kingdom, many still ached and suffered in the isolation brought upon them. Legolas thought they fully deserved to have an evening of enjoyment.

Yet, at the same time, the notion of being unaware unnerved him somewhat. He did not know who was coming, what would be happening, what would be expected of him... The idea of disappointing anyone always weighed heavily on his mind, from the most simple of occasions to the most momentous. And his father could be an unpredictable one sometimes. No one ever knew what was occurring in that tangled mind of his.

It was a trait that Legolas was very sure he had inherited from him.

As he looked into the glass before him, he saw an elf that many would still deem very young. It was the trick of immortality that the Firstborn retained their youthful features throughout the millennia and ages they lived, ageing only in unnoticeable slow ways after a certain time. Legolas had not seen any difference in himself for nigh on five hundred years. He doubted he ever would do.

But beyond his appearance, however, he felt that not much else had changed either. Since his younger days, he had always felt the great influence of responsibility and seriousness pressing down upon him. The title of prince came with its own encumbrances yet it had been so much more than that for almost as long as he could remember. Once, he could recall true light in this forest, the radiant warmth of his mother's beauty and love but after that, the illuminations had seemed false and harsh. Still they did not know where she had gone. But Legolas had resigned himself to the thought many hundreds of years ago that she was not coming back from that elusive place.

He had been introduced to these brutalities of the world at a very young age, both the visible and the unseen ones. After the loss of his wife, Thranduil had retreated into an nearly hollow shell, refusing to see anybody, denying all but the company of himself and his grief. Although he had not even crossed the threshold into adulthood yet, Legolas had found a great burden laying down atop him, to coax the realm back from its despair. For many years, he hardly saw his father - just when he needed him the most.

He could not bear a grudge against them though. He forced himself to understand his situation and felt deep, terrible sympathy for him. When he considered it, he realised that his long absence caused him to love him even more. He pined for his presence, longed to have his strength by his side again.

The day he at last returned, his face drawn and pale and soul clinging to the last fibres of life, he knew that nothing could ever be the same again. Thranduil revisited his place as king, sitting back upon his high throne, and the first order he decreed was one to tighten the perimeters and double the guard. The centuries of gloomy seclusion only became worse afterwards, echoing the long seasons his father had experienced away from his people. Yet now they were away from all other people, focusing on their own concerns, barring out the darkness. At least that which existed and festered on the outside.

Their own troubles were trapped inside with them.

Legolas didn't think that his father liked to admit the years he had spent away from his son in his time of need. He was almost certain that he had created some other story of solidarity in his head to live with. After Thranduil had returned to the throne, their relations had improved somewhat, beginning to find support in one another. Thranduil had raised him the rest of the way out of his childhood - though if he was honest, he had thought that his childhood had ended long ago - and they strove through the difficult times together.

They had never truly had a peaceful bond, but the tragedy had brought them closer in a way and they were enclosed in the realm with each other for their main company. It had been claustrophobic and so, their union was fractured yet Legolas had survived by his father's side and Thranduil had survived by his son's. It was all that they could ask.

Legolas hoped that he had made his father proud of him, and that he hadn't let him down in that crucial time. They did not speak of their thoughts very often and for this, Legolas was somewhat glad. He had no clue what he would say to his father, what he could possibly utter to convey how he felt.

But how did he feel? He did not know. Many things - conflict, confusion, lingering sadness, strange thoughts that had gathered over their times of loneliness... They all focused around the solitary realm and his own father. He had been the main force in his life for so long and he craved for him to hold him in the high regard he did of him, to love him, to embrace him, to... The notions he held ran deep, some existing just out of his realisation. He thought he was tricking himself, conjuring up ideas of disappointment his father did not even have, but to live a life of enforced desolation meant to be inherently suspicious of all.

Including himself.

But what disturbed him most of all were the dreams he had. Only vague, fleeting images yet ones that made him shake and tremble all throughout the night and the day. He did not fully understand them, never quite seeing, only sensing and hearing within them, but something told him he knew what they were. And it made his heart freeze and ache. To acknowledge such things would destroy himself and this realm even more.

So he ignored them, or at least, as best as he could. They merely existed just outside of his conscience, a dark cloud that washed over him sometimes but was thankfully kept mostly at bay. There was enough strife in his days without it.

Still, he looked forward to the party that evening. His father had spent much time preparing for it and that in itself made Legolas smile a little. Thranduil had used to have been known by quite a few to host lavish, decadent events. It would be quite something to experience one, he thought. Even if he didn't know exactly what was happening.

Soon, a knock on the door drew him out of his reveries. He called for them to enter and Thranduil's specially appointed servants came into the room. A brief surge of excitement danced inside of him, knowing that the time of the event was approaching quickly.

That night would be good for them all.

* * *

For such a forlorn realm, Elrond had been awestruck at how much luxury lay over the prince's party in the grand hall. From floor to high ceiling, decorations and ornate intricacies had been weaved over the pillars and walls, illuminating them with glints of shining silver and gold. All over the room, tables had been put out, laden with rich fabrics and positioned in such a way as to frame a wide space for dancing in the centre. It was enclosed by softly glowing lights, which ran the whole length of the huge cavern and bathed it in an orange glow, only broken by the presence of traces of moonlight seeping through from distant cracks in the rock. Everything was utterly breath-taking. He had to applaud Thranduil for what he had achieved here.

Now, the festivities had been running for a couple of hours. With Lindir at his side, he was sitting at one of the places nearer to the two thrones at the head of the room, engaging in light conversation after the vastness of the feast that they had just finished. Nearly all around him were full with the delicious food yet ready and willing for the rest of the night, which he was certain would be long. He quite looked forward to what may be in store.

Surrounding him at his table were many of the elves from Imladris known most to Thranduil and his son; Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen, Glorfindel, Erestor and some others who used to care for Legolas as a child. He enjoyed their company yet there were hundreds in the grand hall who he did not know, or had not seen for centuries: the elves from Lothlórien, Silvans from the woods, Thranduil and Legolas' own friends who he thought he may have been introduced to. The set up of the groups was typical of the woodland king though - separated into their own kith and kin and apart from others. It was quite humorous in a way; he was sure others had noticed.

However, for most of the evening, their own companions had not been the only things on their mind. It was impossible to deny the amount of times Elrond had seen many turning to gaze upon the one this party was in aid of - Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm. He had truly been the centre of attention that night.

The royal elf was nothing like Elrond remembered him. Gone were the awkward, sad appearances of his youth and the resistant shyness he had always seemed to display. Now he sat before them, a wondrously radiant beauty, golden hair draping over his strong shoulders, a sturdy but alluringly lithe frame and a face of such fairness Elrond was unsure that he had seen many who had matched him. He was the truly his father's son, yet gentler and with an enticing innocence about him. Elrond had craved to talked to him since he had laid eyes upon him hours previously.

He was certain he was not the only one.

This must have been exactly what Thranduil had talked to him of. If he was honest, when Thranduil had earlier charged him with the task of guarding his son's wellbeing, he had been a little confused. It had been a completely unexpected request, even more bemusing by the way it was one of the first things spoken to him after their arrival in the woodland realm. His initial thought had been to refuse Thranduil, or consider what he had proposed as some strange display of his humour, yet the seriousness in the king's eyes had been impossible to avoid or ignore. He had meant it. He wanted Elrond to watch his son and keep him away from any who seemed to want to take advantage of him. In all sorts of ways.

He had been unable comprehend it at first. Legolas was an adult, mature and wise, surely, and capable of deciding his own actions and what he desired. He did not need some odd kind of babysitter hovering around him, eyeing his every move. Elrond wondered if this is what Thranduil had been to him over the years, maintaining him in his close guard and sheltering him from the many forces of the world and its people.

He wouldn't have been surprised, considering what he had said to him.

But finally getting to see Legolas later on that evening had pulled understanding from Elrond's mind. The elf was astoundingly beautiful and many obviously pined for his revered attention. Thranduil was acting as a concerned - if not, obviously concerned - protector, intent on keeping him joyful. Yet Elrond couldn't help wondering where Thranduil's notions of Legolas' happiness and the prince's true happiness began and ended.

It was a clearly delicate situation he had found himself in.

He didn't wish to disappoint his friend though, not after so many years of being apart from him. His favour was very important to the Imladris elf.

So when Legolas ventured down from his high throne into the crowds, he kept his eye on him. From his place above them, Thranduil inclined his head in thanks. Elrond echoed the action graciously. The prince wasn't the most displeasing person to observe continuously, in any case...

Beside him, Lindir's gaze followed where he was looking, but assumedly not for the same purposes Thranduil had tasked him with. The minstrel had not been able to stop staring at the prince since he entered. Elrond found it half-amusing, half-distracting. "Lindir," he said at last with a wry smile. "Has someone caught your fancy?"

Lindir immediately snapped around to turn to him, a trace of redness seeping over his cheeks. "My lord," he stammered. "I am simply admiring the effort King Thranduil has gone into to transform this room so expertly."

Elrond chuckled. "Is that so?" he grinned. "Well, yes, the king certainly has done a staggering feat. He has turned his hand quite impressively to adorning this room with decoration. But I think that your interests lie with another of his creations."

Lindir's eyes grew slightly wide. "My lord -"

"Ah, Lindir, it is alright. You, yourself, only said this morning that the prince had turned into 'quite the beauty'." He paused, a distant smile still on his face as he watched Legolas laughing with one of his fellow friends. "And he most definitely has."

Lindir shifted beside him, obviously uncomfortable at this turn in the conversation. Elrond tore his eyes from the lovely young prince and tried to rediscover his train of sensible thoughts. Thranduil had been right in his implications - Legolas certainly was very alluring, obviously appealing to many in the room. He must be prudent and not allow these strange notions take him over. They were very unlike him; far apart from his usual, cautious ways. He wondered what on earth had come over him.

Suddenly, the sound of Lindir's gentle voice entered into his senses, seeming to appear as if from a great distance. He abruptly realised he had been staring into thin air, lost in his own mind. "My lord? My lord?" the minstrel was saying, a hand against his shoulder. "My lord, are you alright?"

Elrond shook his head to clear his hazy brain. He finally turned back to Lindir and at the sight of his concerned face, smiled and gave a small chuckle. "Ah, I do apologise, Lindir," he said. "I must have been caught in my own thoughts. Were you trying to say something to me?"

"No, my lord. You simply appeared to be in another world. I wondered what had happened."

Elrond laughed again and patted Lindir on the shoulder. A sensation of shame at being lain so unexpectedly low by the vision of Mirkwood's delightful prince spread through him, but he tried to cover it with humour. "I am sorry, Lindir," he repeated. "I must atone my habit of doing that. It is not fitting behaviour."

Lindir finally smiled back, nodding. "Very well, my lord."

Satisfied about marginally having avoided an embarrassing situation, Elrond turned back to the dance floor, keeping his gaze firmly on the other elves at the party. Without noticing them go, some of his companions had departed from the table and were currently trying to woo both elleths and ellons alike. Amused, he saw that Glorfindel had already attracted a train of starry-eyed admirers and was trying to escape from their interested interrogations to no avail. Once or twice, he would concede a brief waltz around the floor with them but then would attempt to dash away to safety.

In his youth, Elrond remembered that he had always been envious of the golden haired warrior. He was brave and strong and extremely fair whereas Elrond, although more than capable with a sword, had instead displayed determination in his studies and academic knowledge. The elf had been undeniably popular with Elrond's kith and kin in Lindon and on more than one occasion, Elrond had doubted why Thranduil had been so interested in him, rather than the mighty soldier. All three had been close friends and comrades throughout the centuries yet for many years, Elrond had looked upon Glorfindel with jealous eyes.

That was far, far behind them now though. The respect between the three lords ran deep and they had been through much together. Thranduil had turned out to be a cherished companion of Elrond's, loyal and an infinitely dependable, courageous force. Long had it been since they had acted intimate with one another, but their bond in friendship was eternal. And that was exactly why the bizarre ideas in his head about the woodland king's son were unnerving him so very much. He had tasked him with his protection, his trusted eye, yet one look at Legolas was causing shivers to run down his spine. It was not what should have been happening to a controlled, wise, ancient elf.

Yet the prince was utterly enticing, he could at least admit that far. He was almost the exact image of his father when he was younger, as enchanting as the starlight, but with more shapely, delicate features; the influence of his charming mother. The mere sight of him reminded Elrond of the distant, fair days in Lindon with the scent and warmth of summer or the blossoming of spring flowers. He wanted to know everything about the elf, to spend hours of time in his fine presence. To watch him throughout the evening felt as though the troubles of his world simply vanished: the darkness, the heavy storm just out of their reaches, the grief still laying in his heart... He wanted to bring the prince a lifetime of happiness.

Thranduil had wanted him to shield him but he feared that he would be lured into doing so much more than that, to go beyond what the king had desired. And he was not sure if he would be able to resist it.

A heady blush spread upon his cheeks to think of how weak he was being. Legolas was dangerously intoxicating, even without having said a word to him. He tried to find his long-forgotten control once more but soon was distracted by the sight of Glorfindel shifting closer and closer in the prince's direction. For the first time in millennia, a surge of envy abruptly rushed through his body. He tried to ignore it, and Glorfindel's obvious desires, yet was again quickly reminded of what Thranduil had asked of him: to keep any away from his son. This was the type of situation he had been talking about.

So, without thinking, he rose from his seat and made his way across the dance floor towards Legolas and Glorfindel. Half way across, he realised that he probably was not doing this for the reasons the king intended. But he kept walking anyway.

* * *

From his place next to his father, Legolas had been contentedly surprised at the sight of so many at his party. Upon entering, he had been greeted warmly by guests familiar to him, those he saw every day and was pleased to meet there, but also those he did not know so well or had not seen for years. They formed a great gathering, cheering and praising him as if he was some grand hero returning home, and he had been shocked that such a number could be interested in this event. Being so secluded in this realm, he had forgotten that there were still others on the outside who were familiar with him. It was a touching and welcome reminder of what lay beyond the gates of Mirkwood.

He knew another may have found it laborious but he genuinely savoured the opportunity to converse with his guests. As soon as the feast was finished and an easy, comfortable air had descended over the room, he departed from his separated place at their head and joined the throng. At first, his father had not looked pleased at his hasty exit but had not stopped him from doing so. This was his party, after all.

To his joy, although all were respectful, many did not seem to be fazed by his position as prince, no matter how little they knew him personally. Legolas took full advantage of this, mingling amongst them and relishing the sensation of being treated as an equal. He had always seen himself as that, despite his noble birth. It was pleasant to see their barriers down, relaxed and enjoying themselves. Certainly, they needed it.

Amongst his kin, he also noticed elves from other settlements on Arda. They mixed together now the food had been cleared away and new, and old, friendships were formed or reforged. Much of his time he spent with the elves of Lothlórien and Imladris, re-meeting those who he had known in his youth. He was overjoyed to see Lindir, Erestor and Elladan and Elrohir once more, folk who had doted graciously on him centuries previously, and still seemed to do so. With them all surrounding him, he barely knew what they could possibly speak about, so much had occurred in their parting. But, before leaving them, he had promised to all that they would see each other again soon, over the period they would be staying and beyond. All appeared to be satisfied with this idea, although Legolas was not sure of the reality of it occurring, knowing his father's policies.

Still, in the hours they spent in one another's company that evening, they were happy and very amiable. He moved about the circles of tables, engaging in a wealth of interesting talk, and revered the chance to hear what was happening in the outside world. Some of the things they uttered made him pine for adventure and to wander beyond the borders of the woods yet he tried to ignore such cravings, knowing that to ponder on them now would only lead to tension.

So he soaked up all the images and knowledge that he could within the confines of the chamber, merely imagining what it may be like in the lands they talked about; if they would be as dark as the forest, as stricken with tangible unease... It was both refreshing, and unnerving to hear of.

With such good company, however, he could not dwell on such dark thoughts. He walked throughout the hall, always with someone by his side and always with a drink in his hand. A few times he would be called back to his father's throne, the king intent on checking his wellbeing and whatever glass he had with him, yet aside from that, he felt quite free for one night. He had to admit that it was very relieving.

As the evening went on, Legolas continued to drift back and forth between his guests. Eventually, he began to feel that he had talked with most in the room, with a wide variety of stories and tidings to share. They all piqued his interest, however there was yet one who he aimed to meet, somebody who had so far remained out of his grasp.

The lord Elrond had been his father's friend for many ages. When Legolas had seen him amongst the crowd of people, he had immediately felt a desire to speak with him again. Long had it been since the Peredhel had cared for him as an elfling. But he could still remember the admiration he had held for him, the way he had looked up to his wisdom and generosity. He had always seemed like the complete opposite to his father, in both his willowy, dark-haired appearance and his benevolent, open manner. Each time Legolas had visited Imladris, he had always disappointed Elladan and Elrohir in being more interested in their father and his tales than their little tricks and games. Yet the ancient elf had a strange allure about him, something that sparked Legolas' curiosity. Centuries on, he still felt that inquisitiveness about the lord of Rivendell, and wished to know how he fared all this time later.

Finally, as he stood at the edge of the dance floor, quite a while after the feast had concluded, he found himself without anyone at his side, wanting his attention. Across from him, he noticed Lord Elrond was back at his table after being away the last time he had visited it. Glancing over, he discovered the Peredhel's eyes were already on him, dark orbs that almost made him shiver at the look in them. They ran over him, lingering in certain places, and Legolas suddenly felt very bare. He was surprised to realise how much it made his stomach flutter.

But then, as quickly as he'd apprehended it, Elrond's gaze was gone, flickering off somewhere else. Legolas felt a vague pang of disappointment. Sometimes, he did not like being the centre of attention but to be the centre of attention to Elrond was quite an honour.

He just about to move over to him and try to strike up a conversation when he suddenly became aware of another presence nearby. He turned to see the lord Glorfindel approaching, a large, affable smile on his face. Legolas peered up at him. He seemed to have grown even taller since he had last been to Imladris.

"Your highness -" he uttered, then bent to kiss his hand. Legolas tried hard not to stare, seeing his lips tarry on his skin.

"Lord Glorfindel," he replied. "Long has it been."

"Yes." The golden haired elf beamed, still not letting go of him even when he stood again. "Too long. By the Valar, have you grown."

"Well, I was merely a child last time we met, my lord."

"Can it really be that many millennia ago? It only feels like yesterday."

"You are far older than I, my lord. Time must seem different to you."

"Maybe it does. The fair days of youth are far behind me now." He tilted his head, an almost mischievous look suddenly coming into his eyes. Before he knew what was happening, Legolas was being pulled towards him so his lips rested against his ear. He barely had time to react to such forwardness when the elf's lecherous next words dripped over him. "And please - call me Glorfindel. It sounds so much lovelier to hear screamed."

Legolas gasped, unable to stop himself. He blushed a deep shade of red and squirmed when Glorfindel gave his waist a daring squeeze. "Oh!" was the only thing he could manage.

But then, out of nowhere, a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder, pulling him away from Glorfindel's lusty clinches. For an instant, he thought it would be his father, ready to thoroughly scold the elf for being so inappropriate. Yet, upon turning, he found it was the lord Elrond, staring at his friend with a firm, but vaguely amused, look on his face. "Lord Glorfindel, do you have no morals?" he taunted. "Can you not contain yourself, even at this most refined of affairs?"

"I am only joking, Lord Elrond," the other elf grinned. His eyes still stayed upon Legolas, making him shift slightly uneasily. "You know what I am like."

"Yes, and 'what you are like' may get your head mounted outside King Thranduil's gates, if he saw you doing what you just did."

Glorfindel nodded, seeing the sense even in Elrond's jests. "You are right, as always, Lord Elrond," he conceded with a wink. "I apologise, your highness. You deserve to be far more spoiled than how I have treated you."

Legolas knew his face must be glowing from his cheeks right up to his ears but he simply smiled, inclining his head graciously. No matter what his father thought, he was fully aware of the effect he had on some people. As soon as he had come of age, their interests had strayed far beyond his friendship, desiring to have him as a life partner or, for some, just a beautiful, young lover. He had rejected them all, the prospect of what they were offering not seeming right for him to go through with. None of them were what he wanted. But what did he want? He was not sure. All he knew was that they all seemed to lack something that he couldn't quite comprehend.

Now, he politely accepted Glorfindel's apology, not terribly affronted by his behaviour due to the elf's infamously playful nature. He had not meant anything by it. At least he didn't think so. "It is fine, lord Glorfindel. Just stay aware of my father."

Glorfindel chuckled softly. "I always am," he smirked. Legolas tried to ignore the still lascivious tone to his voice. He soon left his teasing though and placed a hand upon the prince's shoulder. "Well," he said, smiling more mundanely now. "I will leave you in Lord Elrond's capable care, your highness. I go to find Counsellor Erestor, wherever he may be hiding from all this fun. It has been a pleasure to see you again."

Glorfindel bowed, reaching to kiss Legolas' hand again. Elrond quirked a disapproving eyebrow at him and with a mirthful snicker, he rose. As he disappeared back into the crowd, the sound of his giggles seemed to remain behind with them. Elrond shook his head. "I apologise for Lord Glorfindel's behaviour, Prince Legolas," he said. "The elf does not know how to stop himself."

Legolas raised a hand in dismissal. "It is no concern, my lord. I am used to - um - amorous advances."

Elrond paused for a moment but then another smile broke out over his face. "I have heard."

Legolas turned his head in question but decided not to make Elrond elaborate on how he knew such a thing. Instead, he put a hand upon his breast and beamed welcomingly at him. "I'm sorry, my lord," he continued. "I have not have the opportunity to greet you properly yet. I have been meaning to do so since I saw you had visited. It is wonderful to have you here."

Elrond laughed. "You are ever the prince, your highness. I recall you used to receive me in a similar way when you were but a child. We always said that your diplomacy would have been excellent for our council chambers."

Legolas grinned. "I truly used to enjoy my time at Rivendell, Lord Elrond. Seeing so many familiar faces makes me pine to see her beauty again. How does she fare?"

"She endures, Prince Legolas. But -" He looked about the crowded dance floor on which they still stood, hemmed in by the joyful, loud bunch of people. "Maybe this is not the most ideal place to talk. Shall we return to my table where it will be a little quieter?"

Legolas smiled. For some reason, the cordial, warm quality to Elrond's words made his stomach flutter once more. The first traces of a youthful blush again itched at the tips of his ears. "Gladly," he responded. "There is much that we can speak of."

* * *

For the best part of the next hours or so, Legolas thoroughly indulged in Elrond's company. They talked of many things, from reminiscent thoughts of the past to the health of Imladris and her inhabitants and the state of Mirkwood. Legolas was more than pleased to hear that beyond the Wilderness, events were mostly calm and relatively quiet in the elven settlements. Talk spread of attacks upon the Southern realm of Gondor but assurances were given of a strong alliance between the city and the newly created territory of Rohan, a land of great horsemen formed a couple of centuries previously. Legolas could tell such information of assaulting dark forces disturbed Elrond but he did not let it show too terribly. He merely gave the impression of a wary world, sitting in a time that was not quite peaceful yet not quite troubled.

Still, the news was far more optimistic than Legolas had dreaded. If he had simply listened to his father's forbiddings, he would have thought the whole of Arda was infected with terror and disaster. To hear Elrond's assurances and see his undamaged poise was quite relieving. His overwhelming concern was somewhat quelled; yet another reason he was glad for this party.

Aside from this, to see this hero of his youth again was very pleasant. He had been very intriguing to him when he was an elfling but now, centuries older, Elrond fascinated him even more. For most of the time as they sat in each other's company, he found he enjoyed merely listening to him rather than talking as much. He was infinitely wise and knowledgeable and Legolas had the blissful sensation that he was sitting in the presence of a great elf, almost like his father, but different to him in so many ways. Similar to Thranduil, he seemed as though (and Legolas knew it to be true) he had had a wealth of experience in the world and had gone through much in his long life. It made the prince exceptionally curious.

However, unlike Thranduil, Elrond appeared far more willing to share his insight. He happily answered Legolas' questions, apparently enjoying doing so, and the younger elf felt spoiled, indulged with Elrond's generosity. He soaked up everything he could and hardly noticed the time flying past. On more than a few occasions, he felt as though he was viewing the world through different eyes and ideas.

But, as they got more and more comfortable in each other's occupancy, Legolas still could not help noticing the looks that Elrond gave him. Like he had briefly seen before while he stood on the dance floor, his gaze lingered upon him affectionately, yet something in the back of Legolas' head told him it was not just for reasons of conversation. It should have made him feel embarrassed or awkward, as Glorfindel's persistent stare had, but it didn't in the slightest. Instead, he savoured it highly, shivers trickling down his spine every now and then. He was captivated to feel that, after some time, an indescribable, subtle tension began to grow between them. It thrilled him. He had never experienced something quite like it before. It was impossible not to wonder if Lord Elrond felt it as well.

He knew Thranduil must be staring at them. It was like the elder elf almost had a sense when someone was getting too near Legolas. Now he was older, Legolas liked to think that he was not too obsessive about it - at least not as much as he had been - but Legolas was sure, if he turned to him, there would probably be a dark, watchful gaze in his eyes. His father was innately suspicious of all, and that relentless inquisition could be turned on and off by anybody, no matter how well known to him. Especially when the matter concerned his son, his beloved only child. Legolas knew their relations could be strained sometimes but Thranduil obviously cared deeply for him in what he did. The feelings were mutual, they always had been.

However, recently, Thranduil had grown slightly more distant again. It was not anything like how it had been centuries ago, when Legolas had felt alone in the running of the realm, yet he still was not spending as much time in his company. And when he was around him, he acted slightly strangely, so much so that a barrier of discomfort could often grow between them. Legolas felt it deeply, knew Thranduil must also feel it too, and for some unknown reason, feared it, as if it could break them apart. To talk to Thranduil, though, an infamously and infinitely guarded elf, would be useless. He would have to try and ignore it.

But, even that day, sitting beside Thranduil earlier next to his grand throne, it had festered between them, just out of reach and touch, almost nothing but evidently something unsettling. In more disturbing moments, Legolas had thought it must have be related to the dreams he had, snatches of sin in the depths of the night, and incomprehensible feelings that were deep inside were stirred by it. He pushed them down, without truly knowing the meaning of them but somehow dreading to. It worked, most of the time

Still, it was undeniable that something had changed in their relationship, in both parties. It worried Legolas. He did not know what he would do without the strong, protective force of Thranduil in his life. Of course, he was old enough and far skilled enough now to shield himself from the darkness and their foes, if any were to ever awaken, but to have Thranduil at his side or in his mind comforted him somewhat. He hoped after these festivities were over and the elf got to spend more time with his old friends and companions, he would be more at ease. And they could work through whatever it was that was holding them back.

Suddenly, back in reality, Legolas realised he had drifted off to staring into space. The feel of a warm touch upon his hand made him jump and come crashing into the present again. Elrond was watching him with gentle, grey eyes, softly stroking his skin. The sensation of it made Legolas shiver a little, without knowing what was going on. "Your highness," he beamed. "It seems we both have a habit of drifting into our own thoughts. Just this evening, Lindir had to rescue me from mine."

Legolas blushed at being caught off his guard and laughed. "I apologise, Lord Elrond. I should learn not to do such things. It used to get me into much trouble as an elfling."

Elrond shook his head. "It is fine, your highness. I quite enjoy watching other people's musings. Though I wonder what you were thinking of?"

Legolas waved his hand. "It is nothing," he lied. "I must merely be tired from this unusual event. We do not have many, as you know."

A little shine came into Elrond's eyes. "I hope not too tired," he said. Legolas returned to his former self, chuckling.

"No. I am a wood elf after all. I am never too weary for anything." He let his gaze linger on Elrond for a few moments, returning the Peredhel's silent watching from earlier, and noticed that the gleam in his face did not falter or fade. It intrigued Legolas to see such a pleased look from him, and to know that it was stemming from himself made warmth spread through his stomach. The ancient lord of Imladris was enjoying his presence and talk; the realisation of this honoured Legolas, caused him to squirm like an inexperienced young elf maiden. He wanted to chide himself for such naïve, silly behaviour but the truth was, he felt the same way about Elrond. Long had it been since he had found such delight in simple conversation and companionship. This was exactly what he had hoped for upon seeing him earlier.

But, now, sitting across from him, he noticed there was something else too. Something else he desired.

To look into Elrond's fair countenance was quite a pleasure in itself. His eyes were dark and enchanting, orbs that shone with the hints of much laying beyond. His face, as pale and tranquil as the moonlight, was beautifully angled and reminiscent of one of the great warriors Legolas had seen illustrated in history books. His hair wound down past his shoulders, decorated with intricate, impressive braids and shimmering in the lamp light. Legolas continued to stare at him, suddenly very moved by his bearing and proximity. He was most appealing. That was indisputable.

And he made Legolas feel things that surely his father would not have encouraged.

The young prince hastily sensed a craving to be closer to him, to swap his place to the opposite side of the table just so he could feel the other elf's body warmth, so he could be nearer to see those alluring features, so he could accidentally brush their legs and hands together in opportune moments. The yearning to do so came over him quickly and strongly. It was undeniably intoxicating.

Before he could think of what he was doing, he was smiling back at Elrond again, content to see that he had appeared to relish his gaze upon him, and tilting his head in question. The elf willingly observed his movements. "Lord Elrond," he said softly and for a moment, he allowed his eyes to flick across to the dance floor next to them, filled with twirling, joyful elves. He almost found himself blushing a little. "Would you care to dance?"

He didn't know what he expected Elrond's reaction to be; whether he would be shocked or amused or maybe even act awkwardly. However, he simply watched Legolas with a pleasant curving of his lips then reached over to gently trace his fingers, resting upon the table top. With touching delicacy, he lifted them and bent slowly to brush his mouth over the soft skin. Legolas' heart skipped a little as he placed one, two, three affectionate kisses upon it. He looked tenderly up at him.

"Of course, your highness," he replied, full of lovely grace. "I would be honoured to accompany you in the dance."

Legolas grinned, savouring this blissful treatment. He barely managed to suppress a shiver when Elrond gently entwined their hands together and guided him towards the dance floor.

To his delight, the Peredhel was not hesitant in how he acted towards him. Although he was always respectful, he was also assured in his manner. When they entered the crowds, politely parting to let them pass, he did not waste any time in pulling Legolas close to him, pressing their bodies together. Legolas tried hard not to gasp. The sensation of such a warm, strong force against him was wonderful. He didn't breathe a word of opposition as Elrond placed his hands on his shoulder blades in a light embrace and began to sway ever so tenderly. Willingly, he followed along.

It did not take long for them to become even more comfortable with each other. They moved slowly, finding the rhythm of the music, and though Legolas had never danced before, he found it came easy to him, remnants of the traits of the Firstborn created to the sound of songs. As well as this, Elrond was so composed in his actions and he felt entirely safe in his arms. He was not embarrassed or shy of himself at all. Certainly, he was grateful that it was not frowned upon for two ellons or two elleths to dance with one another; the only requirement was that they enjoyed themselves.

And Legolas was surely doing that.

So he relaxed, with his head resting upon Elrond's shoulder, and hands absent-mindedly rubbing the soft velvet of his robe. Every now and then, he felt his breath brush against his neck and it made all the tiny little hairs stand on end. His body suddenly felt extremely perceptive to touch, heated by the presence of an admired one so close to him. Before he knew what was happening, he could feel blood rushing down to his loins.

He sighed quietly as he sensed the first traces of arousal blossom inside of him. Surreptitiously, he shifted to ensure Elrond did not notice too much, his eyes opening to gage his reaction. But from his place upon his shoulder, he could see no tension in him, nor feel any stiffness. He was as he had been before.

However, by again looking upon the room, he became aware of something else that he should have been alert about earlier. Almost opposite them, still sitting rigidly on his throne was his father. Even from this distance, Legolas could plainly see with his keen sight that he was clenching onto his regal staff, knuckles white and whole bearing filled with dissatisfaction. His stare pierced right into him and Elrond, watching their every move. Others whispered to him at his side but his gaze never strayed. Even though Elrond was a good friend of his, he obviously still could not keep his frustration from surfacing at what was happening before him.

Legolas quickly closed his eyes and turned his head, pretending as if he had not noticed. He would deal with his father later, if he could at least hold a calm conversation with him.

To his surprise, though, he found that, despite the knowledge that Thranduil was fiercely observing them, his arousal had not diminished at all. Warmth still spread within him at the feel of Elrond's touch and he couldn't help but realise he was slightly dizzy. His breathing stuttered, even more so when the Peredhel's hands drifted downwards to rest leisurely upon his hips. For a moment, he stopped, unsure of the reaction. "May I hold you here?" he murmured lowly. Legolas nodded immediately.

"Yes," he sighed, voice laced with excitement. "Yes."

Elrond smiled against his neck, lips so close to his skin it drove him crazy. He greatly savoured their nearness but now he was starting to crave even more, to wind himself around the other elf and have him caress him in passion. He shivered at the thought. It was no longer possible to hide his arousal from Elrond.

But he did not utter anything of disapproval about it. Instead, he readily pressed their bodies together again so that no distance parted them. Legolas moaned quietly. He wondered what on earth had happened to him. He had never felt anything quite like this before... Yet, gradually, he realised he was not the only one who was affected by this situation they were in. Through his robe, he could feel something vaguely hard rubbing against his thigh, echoing his own obvious fervour. He shuddered, clutching more firmly onto Elrond's back.

"Oh my prince -" Elrond muttered and the sound of those words made Legolas' leggings feel far too tight.

But Elrond did not seem to want to bestow mercy upon him. Still holding him to his chest, he moved his hands so they slipped beneath his tunic, coming to lay upon his backside. Legolas held his breath, letting it out slowly and blissfully when he began to rub, fingers taunting his soft flesh. Unable to stop himself, he leant back encouragingly, shifting and rotating his hips against the contact. Elrond rewarded him with a few satisfying squeezes, kneading the firm cheeks together and stimulating the sensitive entrance within. Legolas bit his bottom lip to stop a cry from spilling out, his erection impossible to ignore against the ties of his leggings. By the Valar, he needed so badly to be touched...

He tried to restrain himself, breathing ragged and quick against Elrond's hair. His hands turned into fists and his legs trembled beneath him. The combination of Elrond's stimulating touches and the presence of so many people surrounding them - including oh gods, his own father - was incredible. He was ashamed to admit that the thought of Thranduil still staring at them was turning him on even more.

Elrond did not appear to be in a very different position either. He was very aroused at being able to touch the prince like this and Legolas could feel him straining more and more against his leg. Returning the favour, Legolas gently shifted his thigh, applying pressure to the hard ridge. Elrond gasped, his grasp becoming tougher on the younger elf's bottom.

Legolas could not believe that their performance and had truly gone unnoticed. There were simply too many people around for that. But he did not care in the slightest. All his concentration was on where Elrond was fondling him and oh, the thoughts of what might happen later that night...

He moaned again as those treacherous fingers upon his backside slid into the centre, tracing the obvious cleft through the taut material. "Ah -" he couldn't help whimpering, his leggings becoming damp where his erection pressed against them. Elrond murmured gently to him, touch drifting further down and dipping between his shaking thighs. He followed the seam along the wool as far as he could reach, pleasuring the elf by caressing his most private areas. An enraptured shudder wracked all throughout his body.

"Oh my lord Elrond," he finally muttered desperately. "Oh, maybe we should retire to somewhere more secluded. You are welcome to - to join me in my bedroom."

Elrond let out a contended sigh. Giving Legolas' backside one more stroke he eventually retreated from his tunic, gazing in an alluring mix of softness and ardour at him. His hands were warm where they affectionately grazed his cheek. "I would be very honoured," he smiled. "And very grateful. Is this what you wish?"

Legolas stared up into Elrond's beautiful dark eyes, barely able to contain himself. For a moment, his thoughts fluttered to his father, to the disapproving look that must be adorning his face right then. But he still nodded, not thinking of any answer but yes. "I wish it very much," he said.

The smile on Elrond's face grew. Appreciatively, he again interlaced their fingers and without another look behind them, they left the large chamber in the direction of Legolas' personal quarters.

* * *

To say that Thranduil was disappointed in Lord Elrond, and to some extent, his own son, was an understatement. For the past few hours, he had been sitting upon his throne at the head of the chamber, surveying the party that he had helped create and was thoroughly pleased with how it was taking place. Everyone who he invited had arrived, the company seemed merry and amicable, despite the differences between some of them, and Galion had done a marvellous job of helping to decorate the grand hall. And, most importantly, Legolas had been having a pleasant time, from what he could ascertain. It was a spectacular affair, reminiscent of the events he had held long, long ago.

During the feast in the early time of the festivities, Legolas had been at his side, the crown prince of the realm. The conversation was thin and scarce but Thranduil had enjoyed the fair light in his son's countenance. He had found his gaze straying to him often, glances that would increase as the night went on. He truly had become very beautiful. The glow of eternal youth shone in his face, gleaming from his lovely blue eyes - his mother's eyes, Thranduil noted - and in his rare, but illustrious smiles. There was no one in all of Arda who could match his son. Aside from his appearance, however, Thranduil greatly admired his fortitude and manner, having battled through much in his life. Although pride welled in him to look upon his only child, Thranduil also ached, at regrets from the past and regrets still eating away at his conscience, dark thoughts always on the horizon. It was how it always was when he met with Legolas these days, unfortunately a slowly dwindling occurrence.

He had been half-disappointed, half-relieved when Legolas left him after the meal to immerse himself in the crowds of guests wanting to talk with him. He spread and meandered amongst them like a true friend of the people, happy to converse with many. Thranduil tried to distract himself by holding his own discussions but alas, his eyes kept roaming back to observe where that radiant blonde head was in the room. He was always somewhere different, flitting about like a delightful, elegant bird waiting to be caught. Once or twice, Thranduil had to bring him back to the throne to inquire on his comfort and investigate any potentially harmful drink in his hand.

And then there came Glorfindel. Thranduil had been vaguely concerned about him when he had seen his arrival as one of Lord Elrond's companions earlier that day, knowing his infamous nature towards lovely, attractive elves. Legolas fit the description of what he often desired perfectly. He had continually found himself watching the golden-haired warrior throughout the evening, and when he had moved towards his son, his intentions irritatingly obvious, Thranduil had seethed in vexation. If he hadn't have set Elrond up earlier with the mission of shielding Legolas, he would have dealt with Glorfindel himself. The outcome wouldn't have been pleasant, he was sure.

To his abatement, though, Elrond soon stepped into the situation. After some infuriatingly inappropriate actions on Glorfindel's part, ones which almost threatened Thranduil out onto the dance floor, he guided Legolas away from whatever Glorfindel had been planning and sat him down out of the danger zone at his own table. Thranduil thanked the Valar that he had decided to request Elrond to be Legolas' protector when it was not proper for him to intervene. He had seen the confusion and indecision in the Peredhel's eyes upon speaking to him about such a thing but now, surely, he must understand.

For a satisfying time, while he was seated at Elrond's side, Thranduil thought that Legolas was away from the amorous clinches of others. He had been contented with their talk, knowing that Legolas had admired the Lord of Imladris when he had been younger, and appreciated the friend he could find in him.

But he gradually came to realise that something had changed between them. As the evening stretched on, they started to act more and more comfortably with each other, Elrond's gaze gaining a quality that Glorfindel's had contained. Thranduil did not mind about their mutual ease yet when they moved to the dance floor together, his hands had begun to again curl tightly around the arms of his chair. It all got more and more frustrating from there.

From entrusting Elrond with Legolas' virtue and being assured that he would behave appropriately, Thranduil began to regret his choice. They moved like lovers before him, swaying and touching far too intimately and Thranduil fumed, feeling a deep sense of betrayal; Elrond for stamping upon his reliance, and in some ways, Legolas for parading so shamelessly before him. He craved to break them apart and lecture them both but it would not be becoming for a king to act in such a way in a very public place. Especially not after so much work and expectancy about this party. He felt helpless, forced to watch his friend and his son engage in open duplicity. It was maddening.

But, still, he could not keep his eyes from them. He told himself that it was because he had to watch over Legolas, now Elrond had given up his assigned position, yet over a very short time, he began to become aware of something else brewing inside him. Something that was just as aggravating and disturbing as the notion of their disloyalty.

They were unnervingly alluring together. Elrond had a dark, ancient grace about him while Legolas' beauty was bright and golden, a perfect contrast. Their looks contradicted one other wonderfully and made each stand out even more than usual. Thranduil had always been aware of Elrond's handsomeness and despite his own father's misgivings in the past, had also found a kind, fascinating soul within him. For many years, they had shared company and beds. But not for a long, long time.

If he was entirely honest, Thranduil could not deny that there had been another, alternative reason for inviting Elrond to the realm. Since the disappearance of his dear wife, Thranduil had been terribly lonely within his isolated kingdom, aside from the presence of his son. Many centuries had passed since her loss and Thranduil's fëa still grieved at this devastation but other troubles, which were doubtlessly related, had arisen over time. They preyed on his damaged mind and would not go away, no matter what he tried to do. And it was addling his conscience even more.

He missed the presence of someone in his arms. He missed having someone to care for in all senses of the word. He missed companionship. He missed intimacy.

It was a delicate matter that he had invariably attempted to atone over the years. He had invited others to his bed, virile, attractive guards from his most trusted circles, and spread his legs for them or spread theirs. It had felt good and certainly his partners enjoyed sharing their nights with the king but it hadn't been enough. It hadn't been anywhere near enough. He still felt empty. He still felt hollow. Tormented with a unquenchable itch.

Deep in his darkest moments, though, he wondered if this itch had anything to do with that part of his life at all. He had tried to fill the voids with hours of passion, whoring himself out to one, two, three at a time, but he still awoke back to the world with an unfathomable lack lying within his gut and his mind. He needed something - something else. And it was tearing him apart that he could not get it.

By the arrival of his former lover, he had hoped that he could put to rest all his inner yearnings once and for all. He had heard of the mournful sailing of Lady Celebrían yet hoped he and Elrond could find mutual solace in one another. But now, he could only watch as he held his beautiful son in his arms and danced with him right before his eyes. He stared as Legolas clenched his hands in the Peredhel's velvet robe and buried his head into his shoulder, shivering ever so obviously. Thranduil hated to imagine what Elrond was doing. Before he could comprehend it, envy that was quite unbecoming a king was shuddering through him. He fidgeted irritably, fists tightening, breath hitching.

He wanted so desperately to pull them apart but by the Valar, they looked so entrancing. He despised it. And most awfully, it did not take long for Legolas to raise his eyes, as if he just knew what his father would be thinking. In one dreadful moment, they met each other and he stared right at him. A wave of unstoppable warmth unexpectedly rushed through Thranduil's tense body. Legolas' face was flushed, reddened; obviously he was becoming very aroused. His gaze was slightly darkened, blue orbs consumed by the blackness of the centre, and gods...He was beautiful.

Thranduil was sure that all the blood inside of him immediately flooded to his cheeks, then frighteningly surged downwards. Legolas watched him, desirous, intoxicated, and his hand absent-mindedly clutched around the regal staff at his side, thumb rubbing against the hard material. He could barely concentrate on anything else but the haze in Legolas' eyes, the curve of his rosy lips... In these brief few seconds, which felt like an everlasting eternity, others next to his throne may have whispered to him but he paid them no heed, unable to understand their mundane words. Everything focused upon the golden vision upon the dance floor.

But, finally, the lurid connection broke. Legolas returned his head to Elrond's neck and Thranduil was left staring into space. He realised that he was still breathless, reeling from the effects of what had just occurred. All at once, it started to hit him, realisations dawning, gushing into his understanding now the security of the dam had broken. His son... Oh, Valar, no, his own son... It could not be happening. It could not be true.

But it all made sense; the tense awkwardness he felt in his close presence, the chasm that had grown within him, the dark storm hanging over his head... The pieces suddenly fit awfully into place. The thoughts he had repressed pushed to the front of his mind, abruptly becoming tangible and appallingly plain to distinguish. Shame and regret seared through him. How could he? How could this be possible? How could this be real? Was this why his wife had been lost to them? Because of his own disgusting sins? Oh Eru -

Thranduil felt as if an arrow had been fired straight into his chest. He trembled, the whole world narrowing down to these horrible thoughts. How could he have allowed this to happen? How had he not realised?

A vehement desire to run out of the room gripped him. If the voice of Galion had not shortly sounded in his ear, he was almost certain he would have done. He jumped, wrenched out of his distraught musings, and tried fiercely to regain his composure. Galion was staring at him. "My Lord," he said. "Shall I arrange for the gifts to be brought out for the prince?"

Thranduil tried to think of words to respond with. He couldn't even remember what the gifts were, or if Galion was even talking about ones he had arranged. He floundered, almost babbling aloud. "Ah...Yes, Galion," he finally managed. "Bring them to - to -"

But, as he turned to see if Legolas was still where he had seen him last, he realised that he was gone, disappeared with Lord Elrond out of the room.

(Tbc)

* * *

**Hello there! It occurs to me now that I've written the rest of the fic, that it (namely the third chapter) is very explicit and I'm conscious of 's rules. However, the rest of this fic can be found on my Archive of Our Own profile, 'aronnaxs'. Thank you :) **

**Thank you all for the feedback/follows/faves so far! I'm so happy that you're enjoying it :) I always try and reply back to messages but cannot if you are a guest so thank you to my two guests on chapter one, 'Choy-Line' and Guest :D**

**As always, feedback is appreciated c:**


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